As solid as a Rock
by headinthecloudsgirl
Summary: One time Peter found out about Neal's not-so-little problem and five times he helped him deal... Neal has this little problem going on that's really shaking him, Peter finds out and is set about helping his friend getting his life back in track.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, everybody! I hope, anybody is still reading fanfiction for White Collar :D**

**Such a shame that it was cancelled if you ask me. Anyways, here I am with a six-chapter story, updating everyday - at least when university-life lets me do that - dealing with Neal's not-so-little problem. It's the e-word that comes because of the v-word. Anyone who knows what that means also probably realized that they might not want to read this. I'll spell the warning out at the end of this chapter, for those of you who want to check if they're okay to read, I just don't want to spoil what's going on with Neal too early.**

**Disclaimers as usual, I own nothing except for... well... let me think about that...**

**Alright, enough of that, enjoy!**

Peter Burke was one hell of an Agent, no wonder, he _had_ caught Neal Caffrey after all. And the problem was that Neal knew Peter was that good and if he hadn't known, well the light bulb would have switched on when he worked with him at the latest.

All in all, Neal knew that it was only a matter of time before Peter was bound to find out about his little problem only Mozz knew about.

For a con man, façade is everything. You play a character you know as well as yourself, you had to be confident, and maybe a tad bit talented. Neal had all that and more, so when he had one of _those moments_, he could slip into Nick Halden for a bit and play it cool, but never for long.

The first real slip up he had had, had been totally uncalled for as well as unnecessary and Neal could still curse himself for it.

When Peter had been at his place once again, six pack in hand and already a lose tongue, Neal had known that it was going to be a long night and the beer was enough to up his blood pressure a bit. He knew that Peter always drank beer but at the speed he was going, the pack would be finished before the 10 o'clock news and that was in the category 'not good'.

So who could blame him when he asked, "Don't you think you had enough?" when Peter wasn't even really tipsy.

He wanted to stop the drinking, period.

That moment was the one Peter started to analyze Neal's every move and not because he was looking for a con but because he knew something was going on with his CI and he wanted to find out what that was – simply put: he was worried.

Peter drank less the next times he was at Neal's or Neal with him and El, and noticed that his CI got more comfortable around him, well even more comfortable than normally.

Alcohol was a touchy subject, check.

A short burst of panic flared up in Peter's chest when he thought about what that could mean, the first thought that came to him was an abusive alcoholic in the family. Then he noticed that Neal himself also always drank very controlled, never more than one and a half glasses of wine, never something stronger. Even after Kate had died, Neal never got drunk and Peter tossed his theory – but only after checking for hospital records or any other kind of proof that Neal had been abused.

An idea began to form in his mind when thinking about why someone would not want to be drunk or have a drunk person in the same room and he began researching.

Peter read up all about what he thought was Neal's problem, mentally checking of some of the signs he could see without having explicitly looked for it.

Saving what he had found, Peter turned off his laptop and decided not to confront Neal about what he had found. The con man was a perfect image and Peter didn't want to shatter that image with a hunch if he was wrong and also if he should be right. He'd wait for more signs or Neal talking to him about it – yeah, Burke, like that would happen – but he didn't want Neal to feel cornered or pressured. Sometimes he was just too considered for his own good.

If Peter had had any doubts left, they would have vanished when he came down with the stomach flu in the middle of the office. Yes, maybe he had been a bit stubborn about not going home but how was he supposed to know that he ended up puking in his office trash can?

Neal had been fidgeting since he had seen the sheen of sweat on Peter's face, never touching him or touching anything he had touched. When the butler came and Neal had the pleasure of demonstrating his skills in reading people, he took the chance to announce that Peter was sick and supposed to be home, resting, and roll his chair away from his boss.

That was not the way Peter had wanted confirmation, but he would take what he could get. Feeling confirmed in his suspicion, it wasn't surprising that Neal left the office a quickly as he could to go play butler and only visit him with a safety distance of one and a half meters minimum.

The only question now was how to confront Neal with it, because Neal sure as hell wasn't going to prompt such a conversation.

Neal knew he had screwed up but getting as far away as possible from Peter had been his only thought when he had noticed he was sick. It already took everything not to wash his hands and drown them in disinfectant as soon as he saw Peter's condition and he had been glad when the opportunity presented itself to make himself scarce, keep his mind off the fact that he had potentially caught whatever virus Peter had.

Now, two weeks later, Peter was at the top of his game again, in the middle of a new case and as eager as ever. If Neal had had a small dog on his trail after his first slip up, now it was a fully grown bloodhound named Peter Burke. That was, if he didn't know already.

The moment Peter came through his door that night, Neal knew what was coming.

"Hey. You busy?" Peter asked even as he walked through the open door into Neal's apartment, loft, whatever. He still couldn't believe the man's luck with meeting June.

"Nope, not even forging anything, if that's what you're asking," Neal replied lighter than he felt, especially after having seen the beer Peter was carrying.

The Agent had reduced his drinking a great deal when Neal was around and he had been glad about it. Now what was this going to be? Some kind of provocation for him to say something? That wasn't much like Peter.

"Don't worry, it's without alcohol," Peter sat himself down at the table and hoped that hadn't been to blunt.

Neal closed his eyes for a second and tried to build up his mental walls, "You know?"

"I guessed, now I know," Peter smirked but the smile vanished quickly when he noticed the look on Neal's face, it wasn't a good one. "You wanna sit down? You're looking a bit pale over there."

"Don't tell me that I look pale," Neal said but took a seat anyway. "Sometimes that's enough to – " Neal broke off and took a deep breath. Great, Peter stormed in and broke down his walls completely, now he was as vulnerable as he was ever going to get.

Peter let the sentence slide and tried to do this in as light a mood as possible.

"So, emetophobia, huh?"

"That's what it's called, yes. You done? I think I _do_ have a forgery to tend to," Neal allowed and stood up again. He was so not having this conversation.

"No, I'm not done. I want you to talk to me, I want to help you, Neal. Because you're not fine, mentally," Peter replied and just remembered to add the mentally – no need to get Neal to panic.

"I lived with this for a long time, I deal with the panic attacks, everything is fine, you can leave."

"Panic attacks?"

Well, shit. That wasn't something that was supposed to be told. Neal kept on pacing, not looking at Peter and tried to find a way out of the situation.

"Neal, please. This stays between the two of us, I promise. Just let me help?" Peter tried again and came up with an idea. "Listen. You lay the ground rules; when we stop, what questions are okay, whatever, but you give me half an hour in which you talk to me. If you still want me to go after that, fine, and I won't bring the topic up again. Deal?"

Peter saw the inner fight Neal was having and hoped for him to take the right choice. After what seemed like an eternity, Neal finally gave a slight nod, poured himself a glass of water and sat down. "Deal."

This was the only way out and he knew it.

Neal took one last deep breath and said, "Deal."

He could see the relief in Peter's eyes and felt strangely fuzzy when he realized that Peter was really worried about him, wanted to help and get him better. That was something new.

"Alright. Good. So, how long? No, scratch that, already in prison?"

"Yes," Neal replied and rubbed his hands.

"Oh, okay. How'd you…," Peter searched for the right words.

"Deal?"

"Yeah."

"Solitary helped. No one around to catch something from. The food was a problem, I didn't know it was being cooked, who was there, how long the meat lay around…" Okay, that was a lot more than he had wanted to say.

"You think about all of that when you eat something?" Peter was speechless. He just bit into his deviled ham and enjoyed it.

"Trust me, that's not half of it. Besides, do you ever see me eating takeout from restaurants I don't know inside out?"

"True. Okay, if I want to help, I need to know what I cannot do."

Neal smiled a bit at that. Peter was actually honest with helping him and not about to put him in a mental hospital. "Um, okay, that's a long list. Few pointers? First of, telling me that I'm pale, because that's not helping."

Peter grinned and nodded, "Yeah, I got that one already. What else?"

"Too much alcohol, telling me that you've been with someone sick or that you're not feeling well, throwing up in front of me, not letting me wash my hands, bully me into a rollercoaster or something like that, keep asking me if I'm fine. Want me to keep going on?" Neal listed and took a sip of his water. His hands were shaking already.

"Well, I'm already breaking those rules, but your hands are shaking. Need a break?" Peter asked with a glance at Neal's unsteady fingers around the glass of water.

"No, just talking about… _it_.. it's enough to make me nervous," Neal replied and tried to relax a bit.

"So, naming it, is also a problem? And 'nervous' is, like, your codeword?"

Neal actually laughed out loud at that. "If you want to call it like that, yeah. And yep, anything to do with losing your lunch is a problem. It's crazy, I know."

"Neal, it's okay. I'm not here to make fun of you. Phobias are always irrational and we still have them, alright? Can I ask what happens when you get nervous?"

"Full blown panic attack, really. Shaking, sweating, hyperventilating, oh and panic. Most of the time it happens because I think I feel sick," Neal said and willed to stop his hands from shaking, but it wasn't helping.

"How often?"

"Once a day, sometimes more, sometimes less. It's gotten better. Mozzie, he…, he helps. Keeps my mind off of it," Neal answered and then added, "And you know what's funny? It is normal to get a queasy feeling during a panic attack and that just makes it worse, because that's why I'm having one."

"Kind of like now?" Peter asked. Neal's skin was paler than before and his hands were still shaking, more than before, actually.

"This is by far not 'nervous' nervous, but it's getting there."

When Neal had said that, Peter was already up and taking the glass of water from Neal's shaking hands.

"Alright, come on, let's get some fresh air. Enough of twenty questions."

He opened the door to the balcony, or whatever you wanted to call it, and stepped outside.

"You still want me to leave? Then all of this would stop now, if you want that," Peter said and studied the still pale face of his CI next to him. He reached the balcony and put the glass of water on the ledge, turning around to look at Neal.

"No. If you'd leave now, I…," Neal stopped and sipped at his water again.

"So, do you have any thoughts about the case? I'm thinking something along the lines of forged money," Peter said.

Neal took the change of topic as a welcome exit, a way to get his mind off the v-word.

"No, that would be too easy, Peter. Didn't you learn anything from me?"

So, he had been right. Normally that was something satisfying, but now, Peter was disappointed that it all had not just been something he had imagined.

He stayed at Neal's place for some time, talking about everyday stuff, hoping to bring his CI down a bit, make it safe for him to drive back to El without having to worry too much about Neal.

What wasn't all that easy. Peter had seen what only talking about his issue had done to Neal and he wasn't sure if he was ready to witness what would happen, if Neal actually got 'nervous' nervous.

He just hoped that instead of holing himself up somewhere until he was better, Neal would come to him, now that he knew.

Peter sighed, opened the door and scratched an enthusiastic Satch behind the ears.

"Hon?"

"Yeah, El, it's me," Peter replied, stepped out of his shoes and followed Satch into the living room.

"What, no 'I'm home, hon, I missed you'?" El asked when Peter came into view.

"I missed you, hon. Could've needed your help today," Peter replied at first smirking and then became serious.

"Is everything alright? Something happen at work?" El questioned and placed her glass of wine on the table in front of the couch.

"It's Neal. And before you ask, he didn't do anything – for once. I went to him, after work, and we talked and…. Did you notice anything off about him?"

"Off? Well, he is a bit, let's say sensitive, when it comes to germs but I never thought it to be strange. I mean, everyone has their little quirks, right?" El said after some thinking about what wasn't perfect with Neal Caffrey.

"Remind me again why I didn't marry you sooner. It took ages for me to notice and you knew all along, huh," Peter shook his head a little and smiled. Man, his wife was perfect in every way.

"It's just, well, with Neal nothing is ever easy, right? So Neal is not some kind of germaphobe or something, but has an anxiety disorder called emetophobia. It's the fear of –"

"Vomiting," El finished to Peter's surprise. "That actually makes a lot more sense than him being a bit oversensitive about germs. I've always wondered why certain things weren't a problem for him to touch and other times he somehow wormed his way out of the situation."

El watched her husband looking at her with comically wide eyes and a slack jaw. She grabbed her glass of wine again, sipped at it and asked, "So, what are you going to do?"

Peter got out of his reverie and pursed his lips a little. "Help him deal in the best way I can, I guess."

**A/N: WARNING! This fanfiction deals with emetophobia - the fear of vomiting. It pictures panic attacks in quite a graphic way and the feeling of nausea, too. **

**What Neal is going through, I went through, every one of the situations is based on something that happened to me, something that send me into hyperventilation. If anyone is reading this who has the same problem as Neal and me, please get help. I did too and I am so so so much better, nothing that made me lose control before, shakes me anymore. You're welcome to PM me, if you want to talk about it, or just ask what helped me.**

**I'd love me some reviews by the way :DD**

**See you tomorrow!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, here's the next chapter :) I'm posting the third one right after because this one is really short and my least favorite one... **

**By the way, I picked Neal to be emetophobic, because he's shown some signs I know all to well in the show and it made my mind go crazy :D**

**Enjoy!**

I.

The next few days were pretty uneventful for both Neal and Peter.

The case was boring, at least Neal thought so, there was nothing to forge and the panic attacks happened when Peter wasn't around.

Everything went as well as one could expect things to run when working with/for the FBI and Neal started to relax. Maybe the little talk between him and Peter had been everything, the topic never needed to be spoken about again. On the other side, he knew that Peter wanted to help and deep down Neal longed for that. Mozzie helped him deal with the panic attacks but he wasn't exactly phobia-free himself , so Mozz only treated the symptom and not the cause. But with Peter, Neal actually thought that he could get better with him at his side. How, he didn't know, but he trusted the man.

That trust proved to be true when Diana excused herself a little early from work, saying that she felt sick. As there was no hot case, just old ones to sort through, Peter let her go, told her to feel better and stay home until she was a hundred percent again.

Neal smiled at her when she stepped into the elevator and then took a deep breath. Thoughts were running through his head; did he touch something that Diana had touched? Had be been in close contact with her? Did he somehow exchange body fluids with her, like saliva?

The only thing going through his mind was if he could have caught whatever she got and that was enough to make him nervous.

Peter had said that he was there when Neal needed him, right? But going to his office, whining like a little boy about something so irrational? No, that would not happen, he was Neal Caffrey, con man extraordinaire, damn it.

While Neal still debated with himself, the decision was taken out of his hands when Peter walked up to his desk.

"Hey, Neal. Diana's already home, Jones's about to leave and I thought the two of us could use an early weekend as well, what do you say?" Peter asked and Neal finally pulled himself from his thoughts.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Is everything alright?" Peter questioned and Neal knew that he must not look good when Peter mustered him like that.

"Uh, yeah, fine," Neal answered and then shook his head. "No, no, I'm not _that_ fine."

It took a few seconds for Peter to catch up with what was going on.

"It's because of Diana, isn't it?" After a slight nod from Neal, Peter kept on talking, "Okay, get your stuff, we're having an early weekend and El'd love you over for dinner, I'm sure. Wanna wash your hands before we go?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great," Neal replied and headed to the bathroom while Peter locked his office, then gathered his stuff and waited at the elevator.

"I'm sure that she just ate something that didn't agree with her," Peter said and stepped through the open doors of the elevator.

When Neal didn't make a move to push the number of the garage, but instead buried his hands in his pockets, Peter reached across him and pushed the button.

When they reached Peter's car, the two of them got in and Neal cursed his hands for shaking slightly. Peter surely had noticed.

"Hang on a second," Peter said and reached for his phone. After some ringing, Diana answered his call.

"Hi, Diana. I just wanted to know of you got home okay…. That's good. You feeling better? Oh, I see, okay. Get some rest. Yeah, see you on Monday, bye."

Neal looked at Peter expectantly and tried to decide whether he was feeling more anxious or curious to hear what Diana had said.

"She got home okay and is having a nice bubble bath, helps with the cramps, she says. Monthly routine for her," Peter said, looking Neal in the eyes. "You're fine, Neal, she isn't sick. Okay?"

Neal breathed out the breath he didn't know he had been holding and nodded. "Thanks, Peter."

"Nothing to thank me for, I just checked up on an Agent that wasn't feeling well. So, you wanna call El and tell her to get dinner ready for three?"

**Don't forget to read the next one :))**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's the next chapter as promised :)) Peter's having to deal with one of the panic attacks for the first time...**

II.

Having dinner over at Peter and El's kind of became routine for Neal, especially when he found out that El knew about his little problem as well. She never said anything, and he was grateful for that, but the way she behaved around him, avoided doing things that set him off, he knew that she knew.

So when he was eating there, he knew that he could do that without worrying about how it had been cooked and if everything had been clean.

Now he sat with his half full glass of wine on the couch, watching El cleaning up the kitchen – he hadn't been allowed to help, but been told to sit down – and was pretty content with his life. When he had been sentenced, his old life had practically vanished, everything he knew except for Mozzie and Kate gone and then Kate had vanished when he got free. Life had been pretty rough back then and Neal never would have thought that he would find such a good friend in someone like Peter – someone from the FBI. Sure, he had sent birthday cards and played pranks on him even from prison, because he liked the Agent, but he never would have expected _this_.

When Peter sat down next to him, alcohol-free beer in hand, and reached for the TV-control, Neal groaned. "Please tell me that there isn't a game on you want to watch."

"No, there isn't, don't worry," Peter smirked and started surfing through the channels before he settled on some kind of movie. "You know that one?"

"Nope, don't think so," Neal answered in truth and grabbed the TV guide. "Huh, doesn't sound too bad, actually."

Most of the time he knew what he could watch without thinking too much about what could happen. Any kind of doctor series was out of question, because sick people tended to throw up at some point, the same was for movies having storylines about partying or something like that. This movie sounded safe and actually interesting.

'_Sounded_ safe' being the keyword here. There was no scene at all leading up to it, no heavy drinking or anything like that.

One guy shoots another guy, a girl comes in, sees the body with half his face missing and starts throwing up all over place. As soon as Neal heard the first retch, he was up on his feet, doing anything but looking at the television and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the speakers.

It was just a movie, he knew that, but that didn't exactly help the situation.

Someone, probably El because he heard Peter coming up behind him, had turned off the TV and Neal was grateful for that, but it was too late.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his hands starting to shake and he knew it was only a matter of time before the rest of him shook so badly he wouldn't be able to stay standing anymore.

"Neal? Hey, let's get you outside, okay?" he heard Peter ask and just nodded, not really caring where he was about to have a full blown panic attack. As he heard Peter ask El to get a glass of water, he thought he should feel really embarrassed about this, but he was too far gone for that.

Peter pushed him down on a chair in the little garden and Neal hadn't even noticed how he had gotten there. Breathing was getting a problem.

"Neal. Neal, listen to me. You're fine, okay? It was just a movie. Nothing that could make you sick."

Neal heard Peter talking but didn't really take in what he said. The shaking got bad enough to rattle the chair he was sitting in. He tried to take deep breaths, work against the hyperventilation, but he couldn't, panic was taking over.

Peter had never seen a full blown panic attack up to this very moment. He had read everything he could find about them, what could happen, what one could do, but it was shocking to see Neal lose it so completely. And he was just witnessing the situation, not going through it himself.

"Is it okay if I touch you? Just nod or shake your head, Neal," Peter asked and saw a nod of dark locks a few seconds later. He didn't want to set off more panic by touching Neal if he didn't want to be touched.

He reached for Neal's wrist, taking the pulse and panicked a bit himself at the speed of it. Neal's skin was cold and clammy, his pulse way too fast and erratic, the breathing verging on hyperventilation.

"I need you to calm down, Neal. I know that if you could take deep breaths, you would, but I need you to try anyway, alright?"

Peter saw Neal nod again and was actually able to see him straining to slow his breathing, but it didn't work.

"Hon? Anything I can do?" Peter had completely forgotten that El was here as well. He took the glass of water she was still holding, put it on the small wooden table and looked at her.

"I got this, Hon. He just needs to calm down and ride this out," Peter answered and then added, "Is the guest room set up? I read that going through an attack is pretty exhausting and maybe he'll want to lie down after."

"I'll get it ready. You sure you got this?"

"Let me get back at you about that," Peter smiled and turned to Neal again, hearing the kitchen door being closed somewhere behind him.

"You're still breathing too fast, Neal, you'll get dizzy at this rate," Peter said in a light voice, trying to ease the situation. "Deep breaths, Neal."

"C-c-can't," Neal panted, teeth clattering from the violent shaking.

"I'll touch you again, okay?" Peter took Neal's hand, this time not feeling for his pulse but forcing him to uncurl his hand until he could press the palm of Neal's hand to his chest. Slowing his own breathing and taking each breath deliberately long and deep, Peter kept Neal's hand steady.

"You feel that? That's the way you need to breathe, Neal. C'mon, in and out, real slow. You can do it, in and out."

It wasn't a lot of improvement, but he felt Neal trying to match their breathing, each intake of air a bit more controlled than the last.

"You're doing real good, Neal. Already getting better."

Peter kept up his flow of calming words, all the while pressing Neal's hand to his chest and coaching him to breathe properly. He could feel Neal slowly but surely calm down.

He had his breathing more or less back under control and the shaking also lessened a bit.

"Better?" He heard Peter ask and nodded, then felt his hand released from the tight, but calming grip Peter had had on him.

"I want to get your head down a bit okay? It's normal to feel dizzy, so don't worry, but it'll help, okay? Just keep up with the deep breathing."

Neal nodded again and then felt himself being bent forward, head hanging low. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, held the breath and then slowly released through his mouth. This was so much better than a few minutes before. After some time spent like that, he sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. Peter was sitting in front of him, face tight with worry.

"I'm sorry," he said and ran a still badly shaking hand through his hair.

"Neal, there's nothing to be sorry for, alright? It's not something you can control or do for fun, so don't apologize. I just hope, I could help," Peter said and Neal felt embarrassed about the honesty in the Agent's eyes.

"You helped a lot, really. I never calm down this fast," Neal replied and noticed the glass of water.

"Could you pass me the water?"

"Yeah, sure." Peter passed him the glass and Neal did his best not to spill anything while drinking from it. When an attack had run its course, his mouth was always parched like he hadn't had anything to drink for days.

Neal took some more sips and then gave Peter the glass back, this time spilling some over his hands.

"How long till the shaking stops?" Peter asked and Neal looked up at him.

"Depends. Sometimes half an hour, sometimes two hours, I can't really tell."

"That long? That's another way to train your muscles, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Neal smiled and felt the rest of the tension leave his body. That was another weird thing; when the attack was over, he felt fine again, no trace of fear left.

"And the panic attacks? How long do they usually last?"

"Never more than half an hour, the body can't keep the stress up any longer. I bet if it was physically possible to freak out longer, I would do that," Neal said and closed his eyes. Man, he was beat.

"El got the guest room ready, if you want to lie down. I read that you feel spent after what you just went through," Peter said and Neal could feel him muster him, even with his eyes closed.

"I gotta get home, though, I can't just sleep here."

"Yes you can and you will. Do it for my conscience."

Neal opened his baby blues again and gave him, he was too tired to argue and took the way out Peter offered him thankfully.

"Alright, if that'll make you sleep better, old man," Neal smiled and got up, still a bit wobbly on his feet. Try walking on shaking limbs that feel like overcooked pasta.

Peter reached out for him and then stopped. "You got this?"

"Yeah, I got this," Neal replied, grateful that Peter didn't make him feel like an invalid. He was handling the situation really well, better than Neal would have ever expected.

"Thanks, Peter, really."

"No problem, Neal. Now get into bed, it's way past your bed time," Peter bickered.

"Yes, dad," Neal smirked and got into the house.

Peter had given Neal a pair of his sweatpants and an old shirt – Neal's lithe body got lost in them – and his CI had been asleep before his head had even hit the pillow, even if he was still shaking lightly.

Now he was sitting on the couch again where this whole thing had started, El next to him.

"That was intense," she said and sipped at her wine, eyes on the TV.

"Yeah, you could say that._ I_ feel shaken up, I don't wanna know how Neal feels," Peter answered and sighed.

"But you did really good, hon. You calmed him down, he acted like everything was normal when he came back into the house."

"The few minutes were tough, but he let me in, let me help him. And that is something with Neal."

Peter felt El looking at him and turned towards her.

"He trusts you and he needs you. Just like you need him in your way. If you keep it up, he will get better, I know that."

**A/N: Alrighty roo, I guess I'll see you tomorrow :)**

**Please tell me what you think, if you've got the minute to spare **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Alright, here I can with situation number three :))**

**By the way, I still don't own a thing...**

**Enjoy :)**

Neal and Peter started talking after that particular evening, not everyday 'how was your lunch'-talking, but honest and open talking about stuff they both felt comfortable with.

Neal noticed that the more he confined Peter in, the more he relaxed, the less the really bad panic attacks happened. Getting some of the stuff off his chest, stuff about Kate, Keller, his family, somehow it helped. Like he was working through decades of issues and throwing those little stones off a cliff, getting lighter every day.

Neal couldn't believe it, but he as getting better – slowly, yes, but surely. Even Mozzie had to admit that the Suit wasn't doing such a horrible job. Peter started picking up on little details, little ticks Neal had and was able to steer off a panic attack before the situation was even breaching 'nervous' nervous. He hadn't been with Neal again after said evening when nervous happened – and honestly, he was glad, because it had been tough for him, too – but sometimes Neal would call him, talking about some idea he had had on the case, a slight shaking still noticeable in the normally smooth voice of his CI.

Neal never explicitly said 'Hey, Peter, I'm just calling because I just freaked out and need someone to talk to and Mozz is off allegedly doing illegal stuff', but he didn't have to, Peter knew what was going on without that.

Long story short, Neal was getting better but he also hadn't been in any situation where he'd felt uncomfortable, at least that was until the final rendezvous between him and the criminal of the week had to take place in some run-down bar in a shady side street in one of the rougher patches of New York.

The location fit the character Neal was playing and his assumed business partner even more so, but that didn't really help his mood.

He was out of his suit and in ragged jeans with a dark sweater, a woolen cap covering his dark locks. Not an outfit he was too comfortable with, but Greg Carpenter didn't do suits.

Neal was glad that Peter didn't ask if he was okay with the bar the criminal had chosen, even though he had to know that a bar that was a meeting point for drunks could not be a great setting for Neal.

When the oh-so-inconspicuous surveillance van came to a stop two blocks from the bar, Neal was fighting hard to keep his cool, keep his hands steady, the poker face was not the problem.

His job, well, at least _now_ it was his job, was to lie and he was a master at that. Neal closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath and slipped into Greg Carpenter, his self for the night.

"Alright, Neal. You get in, get him to agree to the deal, we bust in and we're done for the night. Have fun conning him," Peter gave last instructions with a smile, a silent exchange happening between Neal and him, saying that Peter would get him out, if he needed to, without asking twice, wishing him luck and telling him that he believed in Neal.

Neal nodded his thanks to Peter, got out of the van and started walking towards the bar.

Peter stayed in the van the whole time the deal took to be made, not once not concentrating on Neal's voice when he talked to the criminal, always on the lookout for some wavering, any sign that Neal needed out. He didn't care what his Agents would say if he had to bust his own operation, he would think of some kind of explanation why they had to cancel.

It seemed like he was more nervous than Neal, as he was jiggling his leg, making Jones glance over at him.

"Drank too much," he shrugged and earned a knowing nod from his Agent. "Boy, I never drink more than I need to when I know I'm gonna be sitting in this thing. It's like it's cursed – nothing ever happens the way you planned it to and suddenly you're sitting in the van all night."

"Let's hope that's not the case tonight…," Peter sighed and tuned fully to the conversation Neal had going on again.

Just some minutes later, he heard the most important words of the evening, "I think we have a deal, my friend."

"That's it, get in, everyone!" Peter instructed and got out of the van when the Agents positioned outside of the bar had gone in.

Before he was even across the street, Neal strode up to him, pulling the woolen cap off of his head and shaking out his locks. "Nice job, Neal."

"Yeah, that was easier than expected," Neal replied and put his hands on his knees when he had reached Peter, taking a deep breath.

"Everything went okay in there?" Peter knew by now how to best from the questions he was asking Neal.

"With me and that guy? Perfectly. The other three dozen guys getting drunk? I didn't like that all too much," Neal huffed and straightened up again."But, I have to say, they can hold their liquor."

"They had practice, I can imagine. I bet you still wanna get out of here, huh?" Peter wasn't even able to get the two sentences out, before Jones exited the bar, man in cuffs next to him.

"That was a sweet job in there, Neal," he grinned and looked at the still confused looking man next to him. "Played by the FBI, isn't that a bummer?"

"Thanks, Jones. I'll take him to HQ, get his statement –" Peter started but was once again cut short.

"Nah, you get home to El, I'll do that. After all I'm your second in command and need to work up a bit, right?" Jones smirked and put the criminal in one of the cars.

"Well, if you put it that way. I guess I have to thank you from El for having me home early and from me for not having to do the paper work," Peter replied and nodded to his Agent. "Thanks, Jones. See you tomorrow. C'mon Neal, I drive you home to your beloved suit."

Neal got into the Taurus and ran a hand through his hair again. "Man, am I glad when I get out of these clothes. I wouldn't even paint in that."

"You paint half naked, Neal. That's not really an argument."

"Touché. But you know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. You're one classy man."

"I'm not classy, Peter. It's called style. Something you lost somewhere in the late nineties," Neal bickered back and smiled when he heard the Agent snort.

The car was silent for some blocks before Peter spoke up again, "You know, I'm proud of you, Neal. You didn't like the situation, but you pulled through and came out stronger than before. Not everyone could say the same about them."

"Thanks, Peter."

"I mean it, Neal. You can be proud of yourself," Peter said again and looked at his CI, ignoring the almost empty street for the moment.

"Eyes on the road, Peter! The Taurus can't do everything for you, you know. God, one day you'll give me a heart attack," Neal grumbled and then looked at the Agent again. "But thanks, really. It's nice hearing something like that."

"And I mean it."

"Yes, I got it. Would you now please keep your eyes on the road, Peter?"

**A/N: Hope, this wasn't too cheesy :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hi, everybody! So, second to last chapter already - how time flies... **

**Hope you enjoy this one, too!**

IV.

The anniversary of Peter and Elizabeth came up and Neal was breaking his head thinking about what he could possibly get them what wasn't a total cliché but also not just some fine wine he'd picked.

In the end, it did become something cliché and something he had had his hand in, but he thought they would like it nonetheless, especially El.

He, Neal Caffrey actually painted them a portrait of the happy couple, Satchmo included. El had shown him a picture some time ago of the three of them at the beach, sun shining, El and Peter both laughing and just looking happy. Neal had snatched the picture not long after his decision to paint for them and used the photo as a reference, a thing he could copy so to say. He rarely did something original, always copying the masters, but never trusting himself enough to do something of his own. Painting was about personality, they way you ticked showed in your work and when you didn't know who you really were, the paintings would never be better than mediocre. Thanks to Peter, Neal now had a pretty good idea of who he was and what was better than giving the man that helped him define himself the first Neal Caffrey original?

So Neal painted and painted and then painted some more, until the portrait was perfect, he had to say. Even Mozz had been slightly impressed and that said something. Most of the time he complained that this pigment was to dark or that corner needed aging or whatever. But this time Mozzie had nothing to compare the painting to and once again admired the talent Neal had.

"Neal, mon frère, that really is quite admirable. I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Suit will like it."

Neal framed the whole thing and packed it in paper before gluing a bow on top while grinning to himself. Not that it would seem too girly to Peter, the bow had to make due.

Now he was standing in front of the Burkes' door, holding the painting awkwardly at his side. He couldn't believe it, but he was actually nervous what Peter and El would say.

"Neal, honey, come in," El opened the door and warm air greeted Neal.

"Thanks, El." Neal stepped inside and saw Peter standing in the living room, tying his tie with some difficulty, it didn't seem to want to lay the way Peter wanted it to.

"Hey, Neal."

"Need some help with that?" Neal bickered with a raised eyebrow.

"I've been tying ties since before you were able to grip a crayon, I think I got it," Peter answered and finally got his hands off his tie. "There."

"Why are you dressed up again?" Neal asked. He had been invited over, he got the time right – why did it seem like they were on their way out of the house?

"Because we're going out for dinner. El, you and I," Peter answered, shrugging on his jacket and giving El a peck on her cheek.

"Riiight."

"It was supposed to be a surprise, Neal. There is this nice little restaurant El and I found and love. It's nice, you'll like it," Peter said and shot Neal one of those meaningful glances.

_It's clean, we've eaten there and everything was okay._

Neal smiled and nodded.

"Well, I suppose I should give this to you now, then." He held out the still wrapped painting and stepped back once it was securely in El's hands.

"Neal, you shouldn't have – "

"Nah, no complaints. It's your anniversary after all."

El smiled at him and got rid of the paper around their present. Before the last of it had even fallen to the floor, her face lit up, eyes shining.

"Neal, it's beautiful!" El studied the picture for a while longer and then pressed it into Peter's hands who was just standing there open-mouthed, before hugging Neal. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"You're welcome, El," Neal answered and hugged her back, then looked up to Peter who was still just standing there.

"Neal, it's…it's…"

"What? Too cheesy? One thing's for sure, it's not forged."

Peter laughed at that and then looked at Neal, eyes shining brightly. "It's like El said, it's perfect. We got the first original Caffrey."

It was Neal's turn to laugh at that. "And the only, as far as I'm concerned. It rather go back to-"

"Ah, don't say it, Neal, don't ruin the moment."

"Allegedly go back to-"

"Nope."

"Alright."

El had watched the exchange bemusedly and now took the painting from her husband again, setting it on the kitchen table, out of Satch's reach.

"Time to get going or we're going to be late for the reservation," she said as she looked at her boys.

The dinner really was delicious, the atmosphere between the three of them relaxed. Neal enjoyed the evening, spending time with El and Peter was always fun and today was no different. Time flew by and he didn't think twice about what he ate, something that was new but very welcome to him. The restaurant made a clean impression and a quick trip to the bathroom underlined that – Neal's rule number one: if the toilets were dirty, the kitchen was most certainly also not the cleanest one.

Thanks to the never ending conversational topics between them and the waiter with an always full wine bottle, the Burkes and Neal left the restaurant close to midnight, walking back the relatively short distance to El and Peter's home. It was somewhere between late summer and early autumn, so it was plenty warm for that, even at this time of the night.

This time of the night was also the time most young people made their way to the clubs and parties, already more than halfway to drunk, having a good time and wanting New York to know about it, judging by the noise they were making.

Neal was at a point that just some drunk people weren't enough anymore to get him into full panic mode, just some months ago that had been different. Two stumbling teenagers would have been enough to get him hyperventilating.

Now he just shook his head at the group of teens, grinning slightly and wished that he had had such a good time when he was younger.

Nevertheless he noticed the short glance Peter shot him to check if he was okay and also did not miss the proud gleam his eyes had, when he realized that Neal wasn't bothered by stuff like that anymore.

The relaxed atmosphere lasted exactly two more blocks, when two girls came out of a club, one pretty much holding the other one up, helping her down the road some meters and then sitting her down on the edge of the side walk, facing the street.

From the way the now sitting girl held herself and how her friend was rubbing her back, whispering to her, Neal knew exactly what was going to happen and still he couldn't quite look away – like he was challenging himself, wanting to see how much better he had gotten since Peter found out about his little issue.

He didn't need to wait long, they were still several meters away from the girls, when the obviously drunken one leaned forward, her head practically between her knees, and started to bring up everything and anything she had in her stomach.

It seemed like this wasn't the first time the two girls were in this situation, as the other girl gathered her friend's hair and held it out of the way all the while looking none too concerned or grossed out.

Neal looked away as soon as the first drinks made a reappearance, kept breathing steadily and his eyes straight forward as Peter, El and he passed the girls.

When the three of them were far enough away to not hear the retching anymore, Peter spoke up.

"You doing okay over there, Neal?"

Neal needed a moment to answer that question, having to check his own body through first.

"Well, I'm not panicking, if that's what you mean, but it seems like my hands and legs aren't getting that message," Neal said and held up his hands for demonstration – they were shaking, badly.

"Huh. Just the shaking?"

"Yep. Strange, isn't it?" Neal asked as he inspected his limbs. He really did feel okay. Yes, seeing someone throwing up was still something he really really didn't need to do, but he didn't feel that irrational fear that had kept him in its claws for so long.

"It isn't strange, sweetie, it means that you are _a lot_ better than some months ago," El said and pecked him on the cheek even while they were walking. "I'm really proud of you, you know?"

"I tried to tell him that, El, doesn't work," Peter grinned and looked at Neal, "He just told me to watch the street."

"Because you were driving! You can't expect me to bathe in your praise while worrying about you crashing the car!" Neal bickered right back.

"Yeah, well, I'm not driving now and neither is El," Peter answered with that meaningful glance in Neal's direction again.

"Okay, I got it, I got it. Seriously. And I think that the way I'm living now is much better than before."

"That's as close as he's gonna get to admitting he's proud of himself," Peter fake-whispered to El and she laughed.

"Well, let me tell you something; he can be proud of himself," she whispered back just as loudly and made Neal laugh in turn.

"Message received."

**A/N: Alright, tomorrow comes the last chapter - and if you ask me, it's going to be the best chapter. We still have to see if Neal can deal when he's the one being/feeling sick... I'm so glad a bad guy decided to poison him :D**

**Hope to see y'all tomorrow!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello, everybody and welcome to the last chapter of this little thingy :)**

**Man, I'm so nervous about posting this because it sounded like you guys are really excited for it - and I'm just left hoping that I can at east partly live up to your expectations... Anyway, there's no turning back now...**

**Enjoy!**

V.

It was supposed to be just another undercover job, just another alias luring the criminal of week into admitting or committing a crime. Nothing about it had screamed 'dangerous' or even just 'be careful' to the Agents or to Neal.

Neal was good at reading people, always had been – if you wanted to be a good con man you had to know how to pick your victims after all, had to know who would fall for the trick.

When Neal had been sitting across Alexander Hamilton, nothing had pointed to the fact that Hamilton had contacts running so deep that he knew that it was a set up and that for once, Neal was the one being played.

Hamilton had poured the two of them a glass of water from a freshly opened bottle – Neal had an eye on that since he'd been drugged by that therapist – and then sat down to talk about the heist they were allegedly going to pull.

Neal had taken several sips from the water after Hamilton had done so, noticing nothing off about it, and took some more sips after his vision getting a bit blurred, like he was dizzy.

"Already feeling the effects, Caffrey?" Hamilton asked in a perfectly innocent voice and looked at him.

Neal's eyes shot to his glass and then to Hamilton.

"Some dried Jack o' Lantern in your glass, not a dose that could get dangerous, just makes you pretty uncomfortable for the next few hours. I wouldn't drink any more of it, if I were you."

"Hang tight, Neal, we're coming!" Neal heard Peter in his ear, for once not wearing the watch with one way communication, but an ear piece that went both ways.

"Why?" he croaked out and blinked several times, his vision was getting worse and his eyes were starting to tear.

"Just a little reminder what happens when you go against your own kind. And what waits for you the day you get back into prison and I'm sure you will end up there again," Hamilton whispered in a threatening tone and then stood and raised his hands, just as Peter and the rest of the cavalry came storming through the doors.

Jones and Diana went straight for Hamilton while Peter ran to Neal and crouched down in front of him, a hand resting on his CI's shoulder.

The first thing Peter noticed were the extremely small pupils, the clear blue irises as huge as he'd never seen them before, then that Neal was starting to sweat and his eyes to water.

"Neal? Ambulance with a specialist is on the way, okay? How're you doing?" Peter asked, never breaking eye contact or taking his hand of off Neal's shoulder.

"Blurred vision, I'm sweating and starting to shiver," Neal answered and closed his eyes.

"Shivering from feeling cold?"

"No. Just shivering. Like the time I saw that girl throw up."

"Alright. Just stay like this if you're comfortable the way you're sitting," Peter said when breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the sirens not too far away.

Hamilton had said that the dose wasn't big enough to get dangerous, but why trust a man's word who had just poisoned someone?

"Peter?"

Peter turned and saw an EMT coming up, a doctor in scrubs next to him. That was one of the privileges of being with the FBI, you built up some contacts as well and after Mozzie had been poisoned with Belladonna, he had kept up the contact to the toxicologist.

"Jake. Thank god you're on shift today," Peter said and then turned back ton Neal, "This is my CI, Neal Caffrey. Our criminal decided to poison him with Jack o' Lantern, from what I heard."

Jake took Peter's position in front of Neal and laid two fingers against Neal's pulse point. "Neal, can you open your eyes for me?"

The doctor took in the tiny pupils along with the watering eyes. "Hi. My name's Jake, a friend of Peter's. Can you tell me all of your symptoms? Everything that feels different from normal?"

"My vision is blurry, I'm sweating, shaking, starting to get a headache. Uh, watering eyes, got too much saliva," Neal listed and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Alright, okay. Your pulse is good, symptoms are matching muscarine poisoning - that's the stuff in the Jack o' Lanterns - from the looks of it you got a small dosage. I'd like to check your blood pressure, if that's okay with you?"

Neal just nodded and Jake rolled up his sleeve, taking the instrument from the EMT still standing next to them.

"Any idea how much you've taken in?"

"It was in my water, but I didn't see anything in the glass before the water was poured and then just took some mouthfuls, maybe a quarter glass," Neal answered and nodded in the direction of his glass on the table.

"BP's also holding steady. Seems like you got lucky, it's just a minor case of muscarine poisoning, I'd say between three to eight hours tops you're as good as new again. The dosage is not high enough to pump your stomach, but I'll give you some activated charcoal to take home. You shouldn't be on your own as long as you're not feeling well, someone needs to watch your breathing, temperature, pulse and BP. Like I said, you got lucky, but there's always the chance of complications and then someone will at least notice you're getting worse, okay?" Jake explained and first looked at Neal, then at Peter.

"I'll take him home with me, no problem. Anything else we should be on the lookout for?" Peter answered at glanced at his CI again.

"Be sure to keep him warm. The toxin tends to lead the body into slight hypothermia, nothing dangerous, he'll just start to feel cold and his temp could drop slightly. Also, sometimes the body realizes what's wrong and wants to get rid of the toxin. So chances are that Neal gets nauseous, maybe to the point of throwing up, or the toxin leaves the other way out of the body. If he does vomit, that's the point to take some active charcoal to bind the rest of the toxins," Jake rummaged around in the backpack of the EMT until he came up with said charcoal pressed in pills and gave them to Peter. "You're good to go from my side."

"Alright, thanks, Jake," Peter said earnestly and shook his friend's hand. "Next time we're meeting for a beer and not a poison."

"Deal."

With that Jake and the EMT left for the ambulance, leaving Peter and Neal behind.

"How're you doing?" Peter asked and brushed a lock from Neal's forehead, Jake's words still swimming in his head. Sounded like Neal was having some rough hours in front of him, not just physically but also mentally. This time when Neal would feel sick, he knew that he actually had a good reason to throw up and that it all was not only in his head.

"Peachy," Neal replied and before he could add anything to that, Jones came back in to them.

"Diana's driving with Hamilton to HQ. I thought you could use a hand getting Neal into your car," he said and looked at the CI. "Dude, you look like crap."

"Gee, thanks, Jones," Neal said and rubbed his forehead. Peter could practically see the headache he was having getting worse.

"Alright, let's get you to the car. Jones?" Peter looked at his Agent who nodded back at him and stood next to Neal. "Up on three. One, two, three."

On three Jones and he heaved Neal to his feet and kept the CI steady as he swayed slightly.

"Just keep your eyes closed, if you feel better that way," Peter said and took in the pallor of Neal's skin. Damn, the kid was looking bad.

Once he and Jones had Neal safely in Peter's car, the agent looked at his CI again and tried to figure out how to best address the elephant in the room.

"Neal, I know you probably don't want to think about it, but if you're starting to feel sick, you tell me, alright? We'll handle this," he finally settled for and started the car when he saw Neal nodding.

They made it about three quarters of the way back home to Peter, before Neal started breathing more than deeply – inhaling through the nose, exhaling through the mouth.

"Peter…." Neal said, an edge to his voice that Peter couldn't interpret wrongly.

"We're almost there, Neal. Want me to keep going or pull over?"

"Nah, keep going, it's not going to get better, is it?" Neal replied and started to jiggle his right knee. Peter laid his hand on Neal's other knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze, "You're doing good."

If only Neal could see that he was 'doing good'. He felt nauseous and didn't know how much of the feeling was from the poison and how much his mind added to it. This was the first time that he actually had a good reason to get sick and that didn't exactly help his situation.

He was getting 'nervous' nervous and had started bouncing his knee up and down, trying to blow off some of the energy that had built up.

The thing was, the poison made his vision blurry and that made his headache worse. Neal and headaches had always been a touchy subject, as with the pain came loss of appetite and queasiness. It had always been that way and he had accepted that, as soon as he felt a headache coming, he either took some medicine or lied down, trying to get rid of it, otherwise he was stuck to water and maybe some plain toast until the pain was gone.

Neal rubbed at his forehead again and then decided to close his eyes, the blurred vision was just making him feel dizzy during the drive.

God, he felt like some whining child with all the aches he had going on right now.

His stomach was rolling and Neal clenched his teeth_. 'The doctor said that feeling nauseous is normal but he also said that not everybody throws up. I'm one of those who don't. Why should I, after all? It was just a small dose, not enough to make my vomit.'_ Neal had a loop of that playing in his head. You could talk yourself into feeling sick, then maybe you could talk yourself out of it, right?

He felt the car slowing down and then Peter's hand on his left knee again.

"Neal? We're home."

He opened his eyes and nodded at Peter, just about to say something when a wave of nausea hit him, not the queasy feeling he had had the last part of the car ride, but full blown nausea.

Neal clenched his eyes shut again and grabbed Peter's hand, not caring if he acted childish or not.

"Neal, breathe through it, alright? C'mon, you know the deal. Don't hold your breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth, you can do it," Peter coached him and Neal did his best to follow the instructions with his mind running a thousand miles per hour.

If he got sick now, he would spoil Peter's car. Could he open the door in time? But then the pedestrians would see him. And he couldn't just vomit smack on the middle of the sidewalk, was there some bush or something near?

"Neal, you gotta focus, buddy. Keep your thoughts on me."

Neal mentally slapped himself and settled his thoughts on Peter's voice.

Some more minutes passed before Neal opened his eyes again and looked at Peter.

"Thanks. Phew, that sucked out loud."

"Yeah, seemed like it. Let's get you inside, alright?"

Neal let himself be led inside, keeping a firm grip on Peter's bicep all the time – that vision was killing him.

As soon as Satch had had his little impromptu scratching behind the ears, Peter mustered Neal like a father would look at his sick son.

"You want to get set up in the bathroom or – "

"No!" Neal cut in almost violently, then softened his tone. "Sorry. It's just that, when we sit this out in the bathroom, then I feel like there's no way around throwing up and that will just make things worse."

Peter recoiled for a second at Neal's tone and then silently sighed to himself after the explanation why Neal didn't want to go to the bathroom.

He didn't want to know what kind of thoughts must have run through Neal's head when he had been at his worst times.

"Okay, then we'll go for the couch, alright? You sit down, I'll get you a blanket and some ice for your head. You're giving me a headache just from looking at you," Peter tried to bicker and turned to the kitchen once he made sure Neal found his way to the couch.

He snatched a blanket from one of the bar stools in the kitchen and then got one of his several ice packs from the fridge – and he had a lot of them. In the White Collar Division they were not as much shot at or even involved in fights as in say Organized Crime, but he still sometimes came home having to nurse a bruise or the occasional black eye and in those moments cold packs were _heaven_.

Peter made his way back to Neal who was lying down by now and handed him the pack before covering him with the blanket.

"How're you doing?"

"Right now okay, I guess. It's like the really bad nausea comes and goes like waves," Neal muttered and put the cold pack on his forehead. "That feels good."

"Tell me when it gets bad, okay? We'll ride this out," Peter said and sat down in the chair next to Neal. "Want me to turn on the TV? Get your mind off of it?"

"Can't really see anything right now thanks to the blurry vision, but you're welcome to watch a game or something – just not too loudly," Neal answered and closed his eyes again.

Peter turned on the TV, volume so low he was just able to make out the words – it was just for background noise, really - and looked at Neal. He could practically see his CI straining not to think about something.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Neal sighed and shook his head slightly. "Just trying not to think about what I ate today and what of that is still in my stomach. Has been some time since I've done that."

Peter's eyebrows rose to somewhere close to his hairline. "Come again?"

"When you're constantly afraid of throwing up, you think about everything you eat. If nothing goes down, nothing can come up, right? The stuff you do eat, you know everything about, especially if it's hard on your stomach and how long it takes for it to leave your stomach, " Neal explained, eyes still closed, involuntary tears leaking out. "I know it's crazy."

"Damn, Neal. I never knew how much you thought about just everything that you did."

"Yeah, and like I said the first evening, to everything I tell you, there are at least two or three other things connected to it that you also have in mind. It's exhausting. When I got really bad, I lost almost twenty pounds in less than seven weeks."

Peter stared in shock at Neal. "Please don't tell me that happened since we worked together."

"No, before that. I got over it and forced myself to eat, I knew I had to. When you put me in prison, it made things easier, actually. If you didn't eat enough, everybody knew and kept an eye on you."

Neal opened his eyes again and frowned, "Why am I even telling you this?"

Peter chuckled and shook his head. "Just blame the poison. Lowers your walls, I'm sure."

"Thanks for the exit," Neal said and then sat up suddenly, the ice pack falling to the floor.

Peter watched how Neal's right hand pressed against his stomach, the other clutching at the blanket. Before he had even registered what he was doing, Peter was sitting next to Neal, one hand between his CI's shoulder blades.

"Easy, Neal. Just like before, alright? Breathe through it."

He could see that Neal was trying to do just that, but he was having trouble. Coming to think of it, sitting up that fast with a headache from hell and blurry vision probably was just as much fun as the nausea itself.

"Keep your eyes closed, okay? Deep breaths, c'mon, " Peter repeated the mantra what seemed like over and over, but all Neal could do was take in some stuttering breaths, sometimes moans creeping in between.

It took longer than the first time before Neal opened his eyes again and practically whimpered.

"I don't wanna do this."

"I know, buddy. Think positive; the poison gets out of your system pretty fast - if you're lucky it's just two more hours. How fast do two hours pass when you paint, huh?"

"With one blink," Neal responded and almost smiled.

"Right, so it's nothing. Try to keep that in mind," Peter said and rubbed Neal's back once more before he got up. "I'll get you something to drink, be right back."

If Peter was honest with himself, he didn't know how he was supposed to handle the situation – just run with what you've got on hand – right?

Neal sipped on the water Peter got him and regretted it almost immediately when it settled like lead in his stomach.

His whole body was shaking since some minutes ago and somewhere deep down where he was the ever curious conman, he asked himself how long his body could keep that up. At least his eyes had stopped producing tears sometime so that he wasn't constantly crying anymore. That was a good sign, wasn't it? A sign that the effects of the poison were lessening? God, he hoped so.

The water was still not doing anything good down there. Neal swallowed hard and started bouncing his knee again, making the shaking even worse.

"Water wasn't such a good idea, huh?" he heard Peter ask, but Neal was too focused on keeping his lunch down, not even nodding.

Some seconds later he knew that his body had won over his mind when he felt his gag reflex kick in.

"Peter," Neal croaked and gagged before he even finished his friend's name.

Somehow a trash can materialized in front of him and Neal grabbed it, knuckles turning white from the force. Peter's hand was on his back again, he noticed.

"It's okay, Neal. Get it out if you have to, don't try to suppress it."

But nothing happened. That one gag was all Neal's body had to give.

He loosened his grip in the can lightly and leaned into Peter's touch.

"I'd rather just throw up if it was over then," and Neal actually meant it. He never would have thought that he would say that but he felt miserable and wanted this whole fiasco to be over.

"Yeah, I can imagine."

Neal felt Peter sitting down next to him, setting the trash can aside but within easy reach and patted his lap. "You wanna try lying down again? Or are you still too queasy?" Peter asked him and Neal pondered that for a moment.

He was incredibly tired and his head was still hurting like hell, but there wasn't any real bad nausea going on right now. Neal felt like he hadn't made a conscious decision yet, when his head was already on Peter's lap and his legs stretched out on the couch. How the hell did that happen?

Neal shivered, closed his eyes and decided that he didn't really care.

He thought he felt Peter's hand on his forehead before the blanket was pulled tighter around him, but he couldn't be too sure, sleep was claiming him too fast.

Peter kept sitting like that – Neal's head pillowed on his lap, his hand resting on the soft curls – for a long time, occasionally soothing him back to sleep, when Neal woke up from the nausea once again.

There was just one other time when he had to grab the trashcan and it felt like that time had been a closer call than the one before. Neal had been shaking, swallowing time and time again, fighting down whatever was creeping up his esophagus with visible effort. He had asked for water later, swishing it around in his mouth and carefully swallowing it after that. Peter would say it had been an experience like really bad acid reflux, some stuff coming back up and leaving the sour taste in your mouth, if he had to guess.

It was sometime late afternoon when El came home, keys jiggling and her voice enthusiastically greeting Satch. She rounded the corner to the living room and instantly stilled at the sight in front of her.

"Is he okay?" she whispered and lost her pumps before walking over to Peter to give him a kiss.

"Hey, hon. Not okay, but doing better. Neal managed to get himself dosed with a mushroom poison, but he's through the worst of it," Peter explained and smiled at his wife. "He's been out like a light for about two hours now."

"Only Neal," El sighed and Peter watched her scan the room around her. "Did he get sick?"

"No. I'm sure he was about to several times, but you know Neal, he's too stubborn," Peter said and slightly ruffled the hair beneath his hand. "At least he stopped shaking; it was like one of his attacks, only caused by the poison this time. Not to forget the headache, blurry vision, low temperature, blood pressure… did I forget something?"

"Has he been crying?"

"Oh, yeah, but involuntarily – that was the muscarine, too," Peter added and almost had to laugh at that.

"Poor thing," El said and looked at the two. "Have you been sitting there all the time, hon? You look like you could use something to drink."

"And Neal, too. I wanted to wake him anyway, get some liquid in him and ask if he wanted to relocate – I bet the guest room would be more comfortable," Peter answered and then turned his attention to Neal. "Neal? Neal, hey, wake up."

It took some time before the blue eyes of his CI finally opened and blinked up at him. "You up for some water? I need you to drink some."

Neal rubbed a hand over his forehead and sat up carefully. "Yeah, I think so. How long have I been out?"

"'bout two hours. By the looks of it, you need way more, though," Peter said and mustered his friend. "Is your headache any better? Or the vision?"

Neal seemed to think about that for a moment and then nodded. "My vision is not as blurry anymore, so that's something."

"Good," Peter smiled and looked up to see El walking up to them, a pitcher with water and two glasses balanced in her arms.

"Hi, Neal. How're you going?"

"El, hi. When did you come home? Huh. Uh, better," Neal answered, sleep still messing with his brain.

"Just some minutes ago. Here's your water, sweetie," El handed Neal the water and watched his careful sips, one at a time with a tiny amount of water and traded a look with Peter.

He just nodded at his wife, thankful that Neal was even willing to drink something.

He could literally see him having a hard time keeping his eyes open, sometimes blinking harshly to stay awake. Peter took the glass from his friend, put it on the table in front of the couch and turned to look at Neal. "You wanna settle down in the guest room? It's more comfortable than the couch."

Neal rubbed at his eyes and shook his head. "No." Then something seemed to come to his mind, "Or are you going upstairs?"

With those words, a light bulb went on in Peter's head. Well, he wouldn't want to be alone either if the situation were reversed – and he wasn't the one who could use someone to talk him down when he was panicking because he felt sick again.

"Nope, staying right here. I'll wake you, when we go to bed, alright?"

The relief on Neal's face told him that he had guessed right and by that made the right call.

"Alrigh'."

Peter grinned, stood up and then laid Neal down again. "I'm just switching to the chair; you're making my legs go numb."

He thought that Neal nodded, but that could have been just him snuggling with the pillow, too, as he was asleep again seconds later.

When Neal woke up, the first thing he noticed was that the terrible nausea was gone and that he was laying on something a lot softer than the couch. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see that he was in the guest room, bright daylight shining through the partially closed curtains.

How the hell did he get up here?

Neal sat up – the headache was almost gone, just a little pressure on his forehead -, braced himself and then stood up. So far, so good.

He made his way out of the small room, his bare feet (and when did that happen? And the sweat pants hadn't been on him before, either) barely making any noise as he walked down to the kitchen from where he heard Peter and El.

"Good morning," he greeted them and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It was just past nine in the morning; that meant he had slept over sixteen hours straight.

"Morning sleeping beauty," Peter grinned and mustered him. "How're you doing?"

"Pretty good, actually. Just a little headache left," Neal answered and sat down.

"Do you want some breakfast, Neal? Just plain toast, maybe?" El asked as she dumped the scrambled eggs on Peter's plate.

"That would be great, Elizabeth, thank you."

Before he could even say something else, a glass of water was placed in front of him and he nodded his thanks at Peter before drinking down the cool liquid greedily.

"Sleeping makes you thirsty, huh?" Peter smirked and filled the glass again.

"My tongue feels like it's glued to the roof of my mouth," Neal replied and took some smaller sips this time.

His friend just laughed and Neal was spared any smart comment when El placed two toasts in front of him.

"Thanks."

"No problem, sweetie. So, I heard you had quite the afternoon yesterday, huh?"

Neal sighed and swallowed before saying anything. "Yeah, you could say that. However, I'm strangely okay with it. Sure, it was no fun, but at some point I just didn't care anymore what would happen – I just wanted it to stop."

El patted his shoulder and turned back to the stove, taking the pan and helping herself to some eggs.

"You're better, Neal. That's what happens when you get better."

Neal shook his head and looked at Peter, the friend who stood by his side as solid as a rock. "No, not better. I'm actually doing really good."

**A/N: Soooooo, did I do okay? I hope that you got some insight into Neal's head and liked the journey he had with Peter! I'd love to hear from you one last time - and maybe I'll even get some favs? :D**

**Thanks for reading and sticking with me!**


End file.
